


Necryte

by robinfan2



Category: Batman (Comics), Ravine (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinfan2/pseuds/robinfan2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day's too damn nice for a slaughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The artwork of a comic book caught my eye a few months ago when I was browsing through my favourite bookstore. I fell in love with the story and the characters. The comic book is Ravine and it was created by Stjepan Sejic. The comic can be downloaded from nebezial@devianart.com
> 
> Ravine inspired me to write this story in which Tim Drake (Red Robin) has the misfortune of being the third of his kind to walk the Earth.
> 
> None of the characters - except the aliens - belong to me.

IT is a shame really. 

Everything around him is strange. And beautiful. 

Alien. Yet comforting.

The fresh breeze that kisses his unshod face is pleasant. The warmth of the planet's young sun is invigorating and familiar. It is green, joyfully noisy, and teeming with peculiar wildlife he's itching to explore and catalogue. The flora and fauna beckon to him, especially that there's a fresh scent that reminds him of early mornings spent at a mountain lake where he and his father used to fish for their breakfast.

He wonders what the planet is called and how far it is from Earth. He wonders if it hosts indigenous intelligent beings. And as he tramples the soft tufts of green, he wonders if the land can withstand the blight he would mark upon it.

He sighs and shakes his head, suddenly gripped with sadness. It's such a beautiful place. 

He sees his adversary - the long, dark line marching towards him in orderly phalanxes of tall, scarlet-skinned aliens. Legions upon legions. He cannot count them. He doesn't need to.

It's enough that he knows many will die in the next few moments. Those aliens that threaten Earth and its inhabitants. Those strangers who already killed many in their first wave of invasion of Earth. Invaders armed with enough technology and magical power to incapacitate the most powerful superheroes. Marauders who travel light years to overcome one planet, leaving for the next after using up all of the previous one's resources. These aliens do not work towards sustainability. They have never learned to till and work the land, to be stewards of resources that can sustain them for thousands of generations.

These beings live to suck the life out of a world.

Yet they have chosen a battleground viable to life. A world that if theses aliens put their minds and will to it could be their home for eons to come.

"You'd think years of roaming around the universe would knock some sense into these guys," he mutters under his breath, allowing himself to feel a smidgen of annoyance. 

He rests his _bo_ across his shoulders as he slowly strides forward. This is his special staff, plain and light yet glitters like silver in the sun. Unbreakable. His mother's before it was bequeathed to him.

He has not used it for battle. Not as Robin. Nor as Red Robin. Not even as Tim Drake in a spar. 

But he wields it often in private, away from prying eyes - organic or electronic. This is one of the few secrets he had happily kept from his family until last night. This is not just any _bo._ It is also a _grimlas_ wherein dwells the guiding spirit, Lynn.

And he is accorded its power.

_So much for living the simple life_ , the voice in his head says, wryly. _Don't want the attention, he says. No killing, he insists. What happened to running away when things get too fate-driven?_

"Tell me about it," he answers.

_I am telling you about it!_ Lynn is exasperated, yet she chuckles, _How can you escape this when you've spent your callow youth dressed up like a parrot so evildoers can see you?_

"You exaggerate, Lynn. I'm a Robin, a Red Robin. Says so on my tunic... that I'm not wearing right now."

_You. Are. A. Parrot._

He hears her sigh and he remembers the beautiful redhead with pointy ears he once caught talking with his mom in what seems like ages ago. The sturdy mail and the intricate design etched on her armour still glisten in his memory. He was hardly five when he first laid eyes on Evelynn de Corredan. 

_And stupid,_ she continues. _Heroes always end up like this at one point or another._

He blinks back the hurt.

"How should I know we'd get involved in this? I never needed to wield the _grimlas_ before. Even during the crisis which saw the death of my friends."

He imagines then her gentle smile and wise green eyes. He wishes he could see her especially that Lynn reminds him of the Oracle, Barbara Gordon, his big sister in deed as well as in heart.

_I know, Timothy. I know. You've done well and I'm so proud of you. Even now I am proud of you._ Her voice is tender and deep. _I just worry._

"It's my fault," he whispers, leaning his forehead onto the cool surface of the staff. "I offered to be Earth's champion and I got it."

_It's a noble offer, child. There's no other way. Even the Kryptonian can't stand against this horde. Not when they can wield both science and magic._

"We have magicians who can do so, too."

_But not at the level that they can. They managed to merge magic and the sciences. Your sorcerers - Zatanna, Dr Fate, Jason Blood - are no match for them._

In his mind's eye, she sighs. _Magic comes with a price. You cast a spell, it siphons a part of your life energy. You need to rest and eat to replenish. If you spend more than your daily allowance, you use up your energy for the next day, then the next... until you hardly have anything left to expend. Then you start tapping into your life force and you give up years and years of your life. It's the same all over._

Tim closes his eyes at the heavy weight he feels pressing on him. "Except for me, isn't it, Lynn?"

She is quiet for a time.

_Yes, Timothy. You are nothing like your mages nor of your enemy's. The Law does not apply to you. I'm sorry I cannot be of much comfort to you._

He feels her regret. _I am sorry I am unable to take form. I would have liked to be at your side as you face battle and lend you my power. But because of what you are -_

"You cannot," he completes for her.

He lifts his eyes and sees a young, alien warrior striding towards him from across the field and suddenly he feels lonely. It's only been ten minutes since he got here and he's already missing Gotham. His home. His heart. 

"I won't be able to go back after this, will I, Lynn?" he asks, standing straight and holding his bo at his side in attention. "I can never go back."

She doesn't speak for a stretch.

_I do not know, Tim. Maybe... maybe... I really do not know what to say._

"That's alright. You'll stay though, won't you?"

_Until the very end, Tim, she answers, voice light yet firm. You will not be alone._


	2. Parley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is what it seems to be.

The warrior is lean and stands seven feet tall. She is female and five steps away from the highest military rank her kind bestows on their soldiers. She has yet to earn the respect and confidence of her superiors, though, as they deem her soft and too compassionate. 

And radical.

She longs to lay down her arms, rest and plant roots into a place she can call home. A planet where generations of her kind can live for years upon years as they nurture and harvest all that it could offer. She has learned of planets where it inhabitants not only used the resources but cultivated them so they could sustain life for countless generations. 

It's an attractive ideal for her. A heretical thought for many.

She approaches the Earthling and stops near enough so their eyes meet. She is confused for a moment. The so-called warrior before her is a child, with nicely coloured eyes. He is not wearing any armour, clad merely in what Earthlings call t-shirt, jacket and jeans. (Their reconnaissance had been thorough.) 

He is young and appears fragile.

And alone.

"What is this?" she asks with a great show of offence as she hopes to scare the boy away. "We are promised a glorious battle among warriors. Where are your champions?"

She's wearing a universal translator and although the contraption spews out her words in English with a one-second delay, the child seems to have no problem understanding her.

"Champion," the child dares correct her. "You can call me Tim, by the way. And you are -?"

"F'garo," she mumbles, almost dismissively. This can't do. They sent a child. _What insult is this?_

"Hello, F'garo," the child says, teeth showing. "Here are our terms: You leave Earth alone, nobody dies. We'll even teach you how to sustainably survive in this planet so you don't have to move from one end of universe to another all the time."

The offer sounds extremely foolish. She can't see how her people will ever agree to it knowing how easy they would be able to crush these Earthlings into non-existence. She chooses to amuse him for the moment, if only to delay the inevitable.

"And if we don't?"

"Then you die," the boy answers, solemnly. "All of you, destroyed, as if your kind never existed."

There's a weariness in the child's demeanour akin to that of the veterans in her army. It sends a chill up her spine. Yet she barges on with the parley, ignoring the slight fear that manages to creep into her six-chambered heart.

"Behind me are 50,000 hardened warriors, a thousand of them trained in magical combat. Not one of the mages will lose their life force against you. They are strong and have enough collective energy to spare. You are one. If you are a Mage, you will lose years of your lifespan against them. You will die."

The boy shakes his head with a soft laugh. "I won't die," he says as if it's among the myriad of answers known to all in the universe. "Not today."

"Child," she sighs as if reasoning with a petulant youngster. "I don't understand this game your superiors have wrought but compassion compels me to urge you to return home and cherish the short time you have with your loved ones. Your kind's demise is at hand."

The boy seems to consider her for a moment, before saying, "You're nice. Tell me, F'garo, just among us, warriors: do you want to do this? Do you want this bloodshed?"

She hides her surprise at the child's candidness. "I will not fail my people. We need a viable planet to live in."

"What's wrong with this one?" 

_Yes, indeed,_ she thinks grimly. _What is wrong with this one?_

"The Elders want Earth," she replies. The boy deserves honesty for his courage.

The boy's grip on his beautiful staff loosens. 

"I don't want this, F'garo. I don't want to kill. I haven't killed anyone. I had hoped I wouldn't have to."

"Then leave, child. Leave this matter to your betters. I am a veteran of two conquests. I have snuffed the lives of countless inhabitants of two now dead worlds." She can never scrub off the shame. "Killing has become easier, yet I will never forget the first life I had taken."

She shudders at the painful memories their talk has stirred. The boy's eyes never waver from her face, intent at understanding and empathy.

"There is no room for innocence among warriors and champions. To see it in you..." She shakes her head. "There is no hope, child, though you stir it in me. Our kind live to conquer and decimate. We have done so for countless eons. There is no catalyst strong enough to urge my people to change their ways."

"Maybe none before now."

Suddenly a huge, fat armoured alien barges between them pushing F'garo away. He then looms over Tim breathing on him like a bull that had gone to pasture.

"Why is this taking so long, F'garo?" he bellows, angrily. "Why are you wasting small talk with this... this... insect? Where is the enemy? Where is this Justice League? Where are Earth's champions who will do battle with us?"

"You must be General F'scora," the boy muses loudly. "Head of the Magical Phalanx."

"What is it to you, boy?"

"I've heard a lot about you. Nothing good, I'm afraid."

The bellicose alien snorts and fires a spell towards the boy before F'garo can shield the Earthling. Disgraceful. Spells aren't cast during parleys.

But the boy has conjured a shield fast enough to deflect the spell. He clicks his tongue. "Tsk, tsk. That's bad form, general. Parley hasn't ended yet."

F'garo feels her superior's rising anger. His power begins to pulsate.

"I see no benefit to this conversation," he says, turning to dismiss the boy.

"You will listen to me, F'scora!" The boy is obviously upset as he motions to the sky above them where they all know a sentient tiny planet hovers. F'garo knows the planet as Mogo, a Green Lantern.

"My father is in that planet with all of the Justice League - current members and reservists. His best friend can split a planet with his bare hands. His other close friend can pull this planet off its orbit with her magic golden lasso. My father has no powers but he leads those who can decimate an entire galaxy if he so wishes. His will and intelligence make him leader of beings physically more powerful than he.

"Tell me, F'scora, why should my father send me when he has all these resources at his disposal? Ask yourself, F'scora, why I offered myself in their stead?"

"I don't have time for riddles -"

"Even now they are desperately seeking a way to end this without bloodshed," the child continues, gripping his bo tightly. "I am sent because my father is convinced this is the only way. I am sent because they realised only I can put an end to this madness. I am sent because I offered to sully my hands with your blood so many could live.

"They are my heroes, General F'scora, and my family. I will not let them be harmed. And most of all, I won't let them be burdened by so much death."

"Big talk for a small child!" the bellicose alien's laugh is full of hate . "This parley is ended. You, F'garo! Move your phalanx back. My mages will handle this whipper-snapper."

"But, sir -"

The general's spit flies as he motions to his groups of magicians to move forward. "Move, F'garo, or I'll knock you back ten ranks lower. Watch your superiors. Watch and learn as I do short work on this boy."

F'garo spares a sympathetic glance towards the child before turning.

"Go far, far back, F'garo," the boy calls after her. "Push your people back towards the hills. And whatever happens, do not let them near."

She turns and sees the wistful smile on the boy-warrior. 

"I am honoured to have met you, Tim, foolish as you are," she says.

"We may yet meet again, F'garo. After all is sorted."

With a heavy heart, F'garo trudges forward, mumbling commands to her phalanx through her communications link. She sees them retreat in formation as F'scora's magical combatants proudly take their positions in the front. She has reached the foot of the hill when the first volleys start. The ground beneath shake.

The tiny hope the boy stirred in her heart has then faded.


	3. The Three Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of a superhero's job is making choices.

_First Law: The lives and safety of all innocent bystanders will always be protected._

_Second Law: The lives and safety of you (the superhero) and the members of your team will be protected to the extent that it does not conflict with the First Law._

_Third Law: The lives and safety of your opponents will be protected to the extent that it does not conflict with the first two Laws._

Detective Chimp's declaration of the Three Laws of Superheroics echoes in his mind as the room fill with the din of proposals and counter proposals. The most powerful of Earth's metas and magicians have been shoehorned in a replica of the Justice League Watchtower courtesy of Mogo, the Green Lantern sentient planet.

All have agreed to defend Earth from the horde that threatens to rid it of its current residents. All are amenable to do what they can to win this war, even to risk their lives. And none of his colleagues, his allies, his friends are reluctant to enact the full extent of the Third Law of Superheroics.

 _I won't kill_ , he tells himself. He cannot take that step. And he can't let them take that step in spite of their willingness to use their cunning, skills and powers to save Earth. 

"No," he declared, his distaste against killing swirling in the claustrophobic expanse of the room. "We are heroes. And heroes do not kill."

"We are at war!" Hawkman argues, his wings seemingly larger than usual. "We risk the annihilation of all we hold dear - the lives of our loved ones, our civilisation, our culture. It would be like we never existed."

"If we fight to the death, all we've worked for would be for nothing," Superman says, grimly, taking the Batman's side. They are, after all, best friends. "Our people would fear us. We'd lose their trust."

"But we _are_ at war," Wonder Woman reminds them, her eyes sad yet gleaming with a warrior's spirit. "There will always be casualties. Lives as well as goodwill. There is no other way to win this if our goal is for humanity to survive. Sacrifices need to be made."

"That's the easy way out," he growls.

"There's nothing easy about killing, Batman," the Amazon princess says in a soft and kind voice. "It's never easy to take a life however justified it may be. I know."

Superman turns to the Martian Manhunter. "J'onzz -"

"I'm afraid there's no change in their intentions, Superman," the survivor of Mars answers, face inscrutable. "I have read their leaders's minds. They intend to invade. They intend to destroy all intelligent life forms. They want to replace us."

"Maybe we can persuade -"

Hal Jordan, one of Earth's three Green Lanterns, shakes his head. "They were only interested in negotiating the location of battle."

"Your superiors -"

"The Oans will not interfere. They cannot interfere. Apparently this is how these aliens survive. It is their way of life."

Superman then turns to him, eyes pleading. "Batman -"

"You all know I would like nothing more than for this to end peacefully," he replies, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "They have closed all doors for negotiation. I can't see any way out of this. I'm afraid before this day is over, we'd all have blood on our hands. But killing... I can't kill. We shouldn't -"

He sees movement at the edge of his sight, moving through the crowd. Red Robin - no. Tim. Tim Drake-Wayne. His son. In a plain white t-shirt, faded black jeans and sneakers, his hand clutching a field jacket. Stylish even in the face of danger.

It takes only a moment for him to understand why Tim is here rather than the hero named Red Robin. 

_No, Tim, no!_ his mind screams, fear clutching at his heart as his eyes catches sight of the intricately-carved staff in his son's other hand. Tim's special _bo._ The one Bruce pretends not to have known about.

_Don't do this, Tim. Please._

Many in the room look on with curiosity and suspicion, not able to relate the young man in civvies to one of Batman's protégés, Red Robin. Those who know the teen's secret identity look at him with concern. Those who do not are wondering how he got onto Mogo. 

The teen clears his throat, violet eyes flickering over to his adoptive father before turning to the crowd.

"My name is Tim," his child says with a hint of self-consciousness. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and continues, "I can help you."


	4. Sharpening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Calm.

"What the fuck, Goldie! Give a warning, will ya?"

He ignores his brother's annoyance as he easily dodges a punch to his face. Jason can get overly dramatic when spooked.

"What the hell are you doing here, Nightwing? B told you to stay in Gotham."

Dick Grayson grinds his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait, and sits on his haunches on a tree branch beside the Red Hood's.

"Batwoman, Batwing and Batgirl got it covered," he answers as he adjusts the lenses on his mask. "Would you believe even Penguin, Croc and Two-Face are helping to keep the peace?"

"Nuthin' like the end of the world as we know it to get everybody doin' kumbayah and shit," grins Jason as he shifts to a more comfortable stakeout position. 

"'Sides," Dick continues, smiling this time. "Can't let you get all the fun."

His younger brother snorts and goes back to watching the scene before them. "Not surprised that you followed. Just can't figure out how you got here. The Justice League has put the Watchtower on lockdown. Teleporters can't send you here unless they knew where this place is."

"I have a Mother Box."

Nightwing tries his best not to look smug at his brother's look of annoyance and awe. It's not everyday that he can impress Jason. "Called in some big-time favours. Best time as any."

He feels Jason's green eyes bore into him through the red domino mask. He then suddenly chuckles, swiping his dark hair away from his sweaty forehead, "Going against Bats' directive is so not you. What gives?"

"It's Tim, Jay," he grunts, keeping his eyes on the scene before him; Tim speaking with the alien.

Jason is laughing. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Something in his brother's tone makes Dick want to punch him. _I'm jealous, damn you! he doesn't say. You stole my little brother from me!_

He bites his lip. Ever since Tim became Red Robin, these two had taken to watching each other's back. A relationship nobody could have foreseen especially that the Red Hood had tried to kill the former Robin several times. Yet Jason's violence against his person did not detract Tim from reaching a hand in friendship until his predecessor acquiesced. No mean feat on Tim's part when even the Batman cannot force this second adoptive son, Jason Todd, to do his bidding.

But Tim has always been a peacemaker in the family, mentored in the subtleties of the art by no less than the Waynes' loyal butler, Alfred Pennyworth. A skilled negotiator. He had persuaded teenagers from taking a fatal jump from rooftops, successfully talked Poison Ivy to willingly give up an antidote, and stayed Feedback's hand from killing a former band manager. 

Inasmuch as Dick is proud of his brother's abilities and success in folding Jason back in the family, he can't help but feel envious at the two's closeness.

He is still Tim's older brother and he will look after his little brother. That will not change.

"Are you saying Tim's weak? Helpless?" Red Hood presses. "The proverbial damsel in distress?"

"He might need help -"

"He's no longer the boy that used to follow you around, Dick. Not since he went on that road trip to find proof Bruce's not dead. Not since you took Robin from him."

That stings. After all this time, that decision to fire Tim and give the Robin tunic to Damian continues to haunt and mar his relationship with his brother. He almost lashes out but stops when he sees the expression on Red Hood's face. There's no smugness there.

"I know that, Jason," he replies. "Nobody knows that better than I. Red Robin has saved my ass more times than I care to remember. I wouldn't have survived being Batman if it wasn't for Tim."

"Are you insinuating I'm useless?" a voice from behind them pipes up. They both turn in surprise to see the youngest, Damian Wayne, perched comfortably on a branch above them.

"Fuck, Robin!" Red Hood hisses. "You know damn well you shouldn't be here! Daddy Bats is gonna unload a helluva-sized guano -"

"Neither should you, two," Robin answers, his domino mask failing to hide his smugness. 

"Shush!" Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. "We're a distance behind Tim and this tree's foliage makes good camouflage but you're talking loud enough to risk discovery. These aliens might get smart enough to attack us."

Dick sighs and reaches out to ruffle their youngest's hair and in one of the rare times, Damian does not protest.

"You're anything but useless, Little D. A pain occasionally but never useless." 

Seeing Robin pacified, he turns back to his other brother. "Tim and I go a long way, Hood. He came at a time when Batman's going crazy at having lost you and things were difficult between Bruce and me. Tim came in bringing so much hope and optimism, it became easier to mend our bridges. We were so close."

"Then what changed?" Jason asks, quietly, eyes boring into his through their masks's lenses. "Why am I the Big Brother now? I ain't complainin', mind you."

"Nothing has changed!" he protests, anger rising. Of course, things have changed. Tim no longer visits him wherever Dick is staying. There are no longer stake outs where they share soups, sandwiches and gossip. Train surfing together has become a distant memory. And an awkwardness has loomed between them when they're in the same room.

"Nothing has changed," he repeats, but in a calmer voice. "You're Little Wing, Dami's Li'l D, and Tim... Tim is Little Brother. And I am here because my Little Brother needs me." 

He then lifts his eyes towards the frontline. "Though I can't understand why Tim is here at all. Is he some kind of distraction before the JL and the JSA come swooping down? What's the play?"

The other two's silence disturbs him.

"Guys?"

Damian shifts uncomfortably.

"You haven't spoken with father."

"I have," he answers, slightly bemused. "Batman told me Tim would be facing the aliens. That's all he told me."

Robin throws Jason a meaningful look before turning back to the eldest. "The play is simple, Grayson. Drake is not a distraction. Drake _is_ the weapon."

Dick feels a panicked laugh swell from his throat but stops when he sees his brothers' grim faces. 

"You can't be serious!" he gasps. "Tim? _Our_ Tim? What the hell is Bruce thinking? What can Tim - or any of us - do against... _that_?" he says, motioning towards the arrayed aliens.

"Father wouldn't send Drake if there were another way," Damian says, solemnly. "Drake... Timothy... is not as weak as we... as I thought."

"Can somebody tell me what the hell -"

"Chill, Goldie." Even the Red Hood sounds grave. "You weren't there last night when we're finalising the battle plan. When we accepted the futility and Baby Bird said we could win this if we'd let him slug it out himself."

"How the fuck did he get the whole frickin' Justice League to agree to this? Let alone Batman?"

He sounds hysterical. He _is_ hysterical.

Damian sighs and answers sombrely, "Nightwing, last night Drake revealed himself."

Jason must have seen the confusion in his face.

"His real self, Dick," Jason says, quietly. "The one he's kept from us for so long. The Tim Drake he knew we'd all hate... and fear."

***

Mogo's construct gives them them the shelter they need as they rest, prepare their armoury and plan their attack. Everybody's tense as they congregate to listen to their leaders.

Jason prefers his face unmasked at times like these, his vision unimpaired so he can study better the faces and movements of those around him. Arsenal - Roy Harper - is at his left, talking with Green Arrow. Father and son have buried the hatchet somehow and are reluctant to leave each other's sides. _Good on ya, Harper!_

The Tamanean princess, Starfire, his other friend, is with Donna Troy, sometime Wonder Girl, now going by Troia. Those two are besties and time and separation have not changed that.

His eyes sweeps towards the centre of the room where the Big Three - Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman - and the Justice Society's leaders - Alan Scott, Dr Mid-nite and Power Girl - are answering questions. Batman's only biological son, Robin, stands near his father.

The corner of his eye catches the Replacement - Red Robin, Tim Drake Wayne - leaning on the coolest _bo_ Jason has ever laid his eyes on. It's the first time he's ever seen it, gleaming like silver, looking sturdy and light as platinum. It's etched with intricate designs, swirls and whorls. He wonders how long Tim has had it and where he got it from.

He slowly pushes through the throng to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder. 

Tim jumps. Seems he's as jittery as the rest of them. But Tim has been distracted lately and Jason had caught him talking to himself a few times. 

"Baby Bird."

"Hood."

Tim looks normal enough. But he's not wearing his Red Robin uniform and there's a tenseness, a feel of unease and dread about him.

"You freakin' out?"

Tim shrugs. "Everybody's talking like this is the end."

There's no way to sugarcoat the situation, "It _is_ the end, Replacement. Even if we set our weapons to kill..." He sees the distaste in the former Robin's face. "We'll give 'em hell, yeah?"

"There must be a better way, Jay," Tim whispers. "And they can't kill. These heroes... They won't forgive themselves if they kill."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Tim. They'll do what they need to do."

"But they are _heroes_ ," his brother insists, his grip on his _bo_ tightening. 

Jason clicks his tongue. "We'll all have blood on our hands by this time tomorrow. Trust me. There's no other way to defend Earth but kill some aliens. Even then there's no guarantee the outcome would end up in our favour."

Tim then turns those unearthly violet eyes on him, bright and keen. 

"Jay, you trust me, don't you?"

Jason flusters a bit at the swift change in conversation, but decides to come clean seeing his brother's expression. "Do you have to ask that, Baby Bird? After all we've been through? You're the nearest thing to a brother I could have."

Tim's smile is wistful. "Thank you, Jason. It means a lot to me. And I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you."

Jason's eyebrow lifts slightly. "We all have secrets, kid. Comes with the territory."

Tim squeezes his shoulder and then steps forward, moving through the crowd, swiftly and silently. His movement draws Jason's eyes to their mentor and cold fear swirls up his spine at the horrified look on Batman's face.


	5. The Cutting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for harvest.

He sees rather than feels the projectiles of power and energy speed towards him. He doesn’t find them any more real than spectres and will-o’-the-wisps. They are nothing to him as these forces of destruction pass through him, sent into dimensions, worlds, universes, and space as he phases to and fro from this reality to another.

It is a curiously pleasant sensation. Almost fun.

He feels it then. The gradual building of power as the energy released by these weapons and the calm vitality of life around him make their way into his core. Like they belong to him. And he welcomes them. 

He raises his _bo_ and extends it before him, pointing at the phalanx where F’scora apoplectically shouts at his mages to drain their lifeforce to kill Tim. Tim huffs and lets his magic flow. It feels like coming home after a long journey and falling into the arms of your lover.

Light and wind rush from his _bo_. And the phalanx is no more.

***

Dick almost vomits. 

Damian covers his ears with his hands.

Jason is quiet but they can feel his terror.

There it is still.

The screams of agony and fear. The loud, grisly pops of alien anatomy as they implode in clusters. The desperate whine of missiles released from the rear of the dying troops to kill one young, inexperienced mage - albeit counted among the most dangerous heroes on Earth - who has only a staff to arm himself against thousands of warriors.

One after another the projectiles find their target only to disappear within the shadow that is their brother. Rows upon rows of warriors burst into chunks of scarlet muscles and tissues, dampening the ground with their dark, red blood. The stench of death saturates the air, choking the scent of life around him.

Tim has won. 

Yet he trudges forward. A terrible being of white skeleton amid a shadowy form. A spectre with the blackest of hearts.

Dick wants it to stop. He wants the suffering to stop. He needs to wake from the nightmare.

“No, Nightwing!”

“Grayson, you fool. Don’t -“

It takes both his brothers to keep him from running to his little brother. 

“We have to stop him,” he wails, struggling from their hold. “He’s killing everyone!”

“Drake told us to stay away,” Damian says after they have finally pinned him to the ground. “Far, far away.”

“We can’t let him do this!”

“There’s nothing we can do. We cannot approach him lest he kills us.”

“Tim will not kill us. He does not kill!” He knows he is being hysterical. The carnage itself undermines his words.

“Yes, he does,” Jason says quietly, his eyes on the battlefield. They cannot turn their eyes away from the heinous butchery unfolding before them. “That’s all Tim can ever do.”


End file.
